I seriously almost can’t believe it myself. This past month I hung just over a hundred paintings and drawings at our local church gallery. Its all work I’ve completed over the past couple of years, except for a couple of paintings from many years ago.

You can visit the Duluth Vineyard church, right here in Duluth, MN for a visit to see for yourself…or just check out the recent work link on this site to see a few of them.

It’s been a wonderful couple of years for me, artistically speaking. While it’s been a difficult season on so many other levels, artistically, I’ve been able to lean into some projects and disciplines that life before a global pandemic just didn’t leave room for. This work highlights lots of different kinds of risks, some new ways of expressing myself, and even a multi-month commission I completed.

I’d love to hear what you think. Peace!

This past week I was able to curate and hang a show at the local church where I help to lead. We’d put out a call for work a couple months ago, asking artist we know to submit work they had created over the past couple of years. We were looking for work that was created during what has been a very difficult season for pretty much everyone — I think all of us have very personally felt the effects of this global pandemic.

And for many, if not most of us, one of the ways we’ve coped, one of the ways we’ve connected to one another, one of the ways we’ve continued to worship God… is through our creative and artistic pursuits.

So we asked folks to show us what they’ve been working on. Help us put together a show, a collection of work that highlights not only what we’ve been creating, but also shows us how we, as artists, have been connecting with God and others, how we’ve been pursuing health and healing through creating beauty, how we’ve spent our time, often alone and in the studio.

I’d initially planned to curate the show, to pick and choose from what was submitted to create a specific experience for the viewer. But as I laid out the individual pieces to take a first look, I was amazed at how well everything looked and worked together. I was stunned at the personal beauty of each piece. The various contrasts between what was being represented, each personal point of view, the wide difference of experience and technical expertise of each artist — I found myself becoming quite emotional as I was pondering what to include and what to potentially leave out.

I decided to leave everything that was submitted in the show. Altogether it perfectly represents how these specific artists in this specific community experienced the past couple of years. Many of them wrote a little something to go along with their artwork, a bit of explanation, if you will, of what they have been learning or thinking along the way.

If you have time this summer, I’d encourage you to check it out! https://duluthvineyard.org/creative-arts-ministry/

It’s been a few years since I’ve posted anything on this site. My life has been busy with many other projects over the past few years. Nevertheless, once again, I intend to communicate, through art and creativity and words, what I continue to enjoy about art and love and beauty. 

As I write this, I am finishing up a three-month sabbatical from all of my paid jobs. I’m so thankful for the gift of an extended sabbatical which was given to me by our local church community, the Duluth Vineyard, and by our national leadership team at VineyardUSA. The women and men I have the privilege of working alongside are people I continue to look up to, and learn from every step of the way. I’m honored to follow their example, and incredibly thankful for this season of sabbatical.

One of the invitations I believe God invited me into during this season, if I heard correctly, was to spend time painting and/or drawing everyday throughout my time away. I distinctly remembered how, when making art was my full-time career, I would spend long days alone, talking with God about every part of my life, as I was in the process of creating. I would talk freely about my struggles or frustrations, I’d ask questions about how to resolve creative and business and relational issues, and I drift into time of worship at the gratuitous beauty of the natural world around me. In fact, as one of my spiritual directors pointed out, those times of communion with God while making art seemed to be crucial moments of clarity and direction, key pivot points of my life that I remember clearly even today.

As I began to weigh this invitation to paint everyday, I longingly looked forward to the quite and contemplative nature of painting everyday over a period of ninety plus days; looking forward to slower pace this would require, and the joy I’d experience at seeing and experiencing and interacting with God’s love in an unhurried way. So I made a tentative commitment to slow down, to notice something beautiful each day, and begin to warm up my pencils and brushes.

One of the very first days I remembered this song from years ago written by an acquaintance called, Little Things…

Seems as though our lives are changing
They’re growing faster every day
As the pace of life grows stronger
It’s the little things I let go astray

But all the little things tell me of his greatness
All the little things reveal his love to me
All the little things show me his compassion
And I know the Lord loves me

Just today he said he loved me
As I watched the rain turn into snow
Every snowflake tells a story
They’re saying God is in control

Though consider now the sparrow
The Father feeds her everyday
He has told her that he loves her
But he loves me in a greater way

And I know the Lord loves me
I know the Lord loves me

Little Things, A Quiet Encounter

As I have spent the past few weeks drawing and painting, as I make art and reflect on the amazing beauty of the “little things” all around me, I’m continually drawn to trust and to rely on his love and provision in every single area of my life.

Here are a few of the pieces hanging  in my studio presently…

One of my favorite things to look and admire at for the last twenty plus years has been my children. But getting them to hold still long enough to do a drawing is quite another matter altogether. Even still I was able to capture a few moments along the way.

When our second one came along, our daughter, it was amazing to watch our firstborn, tough little man that he was, come alongside her and begin to care for, protect and entertain her. I caught them sitting in a bentwood rocker together several times. We had bought that already worn out chair for five bucks at a garage sale and it turned out to be the perfect backdrop for these two little ones.

In this drawing she’s just a few months old. And he looks like the perfect big brother as they watched Jungle Book for the hundredth time! By the time I got around to painting them I’m pretty sure they were on to the Little Mermaid or something. But it held their attention just long enough to get some work done. And the rocker is a bit more frayed, but still serving as a decent backdrop.

As they continued to grow I caught them in all sorts of different poses, different activities and even different frames of mind. But is was always a treat to study and memorize every little part of their faces, their smiles, frowns, ears and eyes.

One day my youngest son propped his chin up on the stair railing leading to my studio. And he just stayed there for more than a few moments watch me paint. I slid the painting I had been working on over to the side, got a new piece of paper out and began drawing that wonderfully curious face.

But it’s not just the kids faces I like to memorize. This painting of Brenda was done from memory about 6 months into our marriage while she was at work one day. I needed a break from the commissioned piece I was working on and, so I did a painting of the love of my life.

For obvious reasons, these are still some of my favorites!

A few years ago I took a week-long canoe trip to the BWCA, the Boundary Waters Canoe Area, in northern Minnesota. It was a chance to retreat, find some great peace and quiet, enjoy to great outdoors, and hopefully do a little watercolor painting. And while I did get to produce a great many smaller drawings and paintings, this particular painting has long been one of my favorites.

It was near the end of the day and the sun was getting low in the sky. And when this happens the colors, the light just seems to keep getting warmer and richer. And this rich, warm light was reflecting beautifully off the rocks as we paddled by. And the water was not quite perfectly still, rather it sort of seemed like we were looking through an old poured-glass window that slightly distorted the scene being reflected into it. The entire scene was so stunning, so warm and inviting and peaceful that it was etched into my mind for years to come. Whenever I linger at the original watercolor which hangs in my studio, I revisit the calm peacefulness of that evening.

Over the years I did many paintings of this scene, capturing it from different points of view, because I just sort of memorized it as we paddled past that evening. In fact I probably just stopped paddling as we drifted past…thinking, reflecting, praying, absorbing, memorizing. And as I’ve remembered that scene, the evening calm as we slowly made our way to a campsite, the richness of life—as I’ve remembered and re painted that scene over the years, I’ve constantly come back to this verse from the great Hebrew prophet Isaiah:

“In repentance and rest is your salvation, in quietness and trust is your strength” (Isaiah 30.15).

For me, this scene has become a reminder of the way our heavenly Father offers his salvation and strength to us. In this verse there are four words describing what we do and to words describing what he provides. And there is so much contained in these words: repentance, rest, quietness and trust. I experience each of them in this painting. Here’s one way to think about it. Picture each of these words like individual paddle strokes, activities we do, to help us get more in touch with the one in whom real salvation and strength lives. These activities do not bring us salvation and strength, but they put us in a place where we can finally receive what our Father offers. And what he offers is so well worth the paddling, so well worth the effort.

In this scene I’m resting in the place of being able to receive what he offers, what my soul has always longed for. This painting is one of my reminders that repentance, rest, quietness and trust, is a very good place to be.

This print, just like the rest of them, is available if you’d like one!

A few weeks ago, as winter was winding its way down (or so we thought) in Minnesota, I found myself sitting outside in Scottsdale, Arizona, in the warm sunshine with a couple of days to refocus at a Franciscan retreat center.

And so, with the sun shining through the towering overhead palm trees I sat down next to a gnarly old olive tree. I loved the way this tree looked from every angle. The way its trunk crawled up out of the ground and headed off in so many different directions. The way it was anchored to the earth by hundreds of woody fingers gripping so tightly. The way it had been in this place since before the Franciscans had purchased the property, or so I imagined.

The first day as I began to draw I focused on mostly just the oldness and gnarlyness of the tree. To me it looked and felt tough. It was strong, but oh so weathered. It was tough. It was prickly. It had wrestled whatever life it could, during it’s long and dry years in this unforgiving climate, through the hard and difficult work of being a tree. I admired its long and difficult life.

The second day I sat in a different place and began another drawing. And this day it felt completely different to me. There was a gentle breeze and the sun didn’t fee quite so scorching on my head as I began to draw.

And not too far from me was another retreatant, a lady who had been coming to this retreat center for a number of years. She saw me drawing and began to strike up a conversation. I was so impressed with her graceful curiosity of what I was doing. Of how my quite time that morning communing with my heavenly Father involved drawing and praying—talking with God about what he’d so loving and perfectly created, myself, this tree and the kind lady asking me questions.

After awhile, as she got up to walk away, I noticed how her legs could barely carry her. How she had to walk so slowly because of whatever she had suffered throughout her long life. I noticed how much she was like the tree I was drawing—somewhat gnarly. And I also noticed how incredible full of grace—graceful she was.

Both this lady with her wobbly legs and this old olive tree were deeply graceful. Neither still possessed the grace of a young shoot, a young woman, rather a deep, deep grace that almost defies description. A grace that put others at complete peace in their presence. A grace that doesn’t hesitate to meet other’s needs. A grace that seldom makes itself the focus. A grace the reflects the creator because of all the years and experience that helped to shape it. A deeply imbedded grace.

A few years ago. Quite a few to be exact. The Minnesota Museum of Art purchased one of my paintings. That was quite an experience for me. Why is that, Michael? I’m so glad you asked.

For years and years I had visited museums and loved every minute of it. I loved the large open rooms, the huge expanses of white walls and the uninterrupted time to study all the various kinds of art. I found it absolutely fascinating.

And I love the artwork. Everything from the solid colored 1960’s canvases to the ornate ancient Chinese body jewelry. It was wonderful. The creativity and craftsmanship was spectacular. But I especially love the marble sculpture, the paintings and the drawings. I would sometimes sit for hours in front on one painting, studying every line and shade and color and stroke. And I would often bring a sketchbook to jot down what I was learning.

At one point, while living in Chicago, I got special permission to bring my easel into the museum to spend a day copying a painting I especially admired. I had read that artists throughout the centuries learned in this way. And I just wanted to learn. The painting I was working from was painted by a fellow called John Singer Sargent. And needless to say, his was much better than any of my three attempts. But I did learn something.

There was one thing I didn’t appreciate, the museum tour guides. As I would be sitting for one place for some time, tour groups would pass through with one guide after another explaining all the things they thought the artist was thinking while working on the work being studied. It seemed to me, as someone who painted every day at that time, that most of what they were attributing to the artist’s thought life just wasn’t reality. But I digress, this is a whole different subject.

Back to the Minnesota Museum of Art. When I walked in that day to see my painting hanging on a wall next to others that I had long admired. Well, it took my breath away. Seriously. I had to sit down and a security guard came quickly over to see if everything was alright. I assured him I was healthy and went back to trying to find any unclaimed oxygen. I just sat there for a while and tears ran down my cheeks. I was thanking God for the ability and joy of recreating his creation on little sheets of paper.

Here is one of the original drawings that led up to the painting. I sometimes get asked if the work I’m creating exists out there in the real world, or is it all made up in my head—and the answer is yes! You can see the various elements in the original drawing, but they are rearranged or changed in the painting. In this way the artist can communicate and create a workable composition.

Anyway, that’s the thought for today. I have recently enjoyed paging through some older sketchbooks and reflecting. Enjoy winter!

Here’s a print of a pencil drawing I did a few years ago. The cabin is called “The Pilot House” and it on the shore of Burntside Lake just outside of Ely, Minnesota. It is a very beautiful and large lake, a great place to set up the watercolor easel and spend a few days being creative. I taught watercolor workshops up there over a few summers and grew to love the landscape. The camp where this cabin is located is called “Camp Du Nord” and is owned by the YMCA. If you’re ever looking for a place to get away from it all, this just might be a good choice.

And that cabin, well it is a special place. I don’t remember all the specifics. I think the cabin was originally built in the 1920’s or 30’s. Left over from the old days on the screened in porch which hangs over the lake there is a trap door built in to the floor to retrieve water from the lake. Now days the cabin has real plumbing so the trap door doesn’t get used as much…or does it?

Brenda and I stayed here for a week while we were celebrating our fifth anniversary. We cooked and hiked and kept the fireplace burning and played lots of cribbage. There were no phones, no cell service or wifi, no one to interrupt the peacefulness of that slow week.

Anyway, when I look at this drawing I can still smell the fire softly crackling, the food cooking away. I can feel the crisp fall breeze and even see brilliant colors of the leaves. I can hear the waves gently lapping the shore and the birds singing overhead.

Drawing are kind of like that. I can shoot hundreds of photos, especially now that I don’t have to pay to get all that film developed. But as I look through all the photos I’ve shot I can hardly remember why I thought I needed that image. Perhaps you’ve had that experience as well. But with a drawing it is completely different.

As I comb through my sketchbooks and see all the drawing I’ve done over the years, I can still hear the sounds and smell the smells I experienced while making that sketch. It’s amazing to me. But there is something that gets triggered in our minds as we take the time to really interact with the landscape or person we find ourselves with.

Perhaps there a lesson in that for us, whether we like to draw or not. Perhaps we could remember the experiences in our lives a bit more, and enjoy the people in our lives a bit more if we just took the time to listen and look and study their faces and enjoy their smiles.

If you’re interested in a copy of this print, I still have a few available. Just head on over the the “Other Prints” page and get yourself on of these. I doubt you’ll be disappointed!